


Nestled in Silver

by hit_the_books



Series: Blood and Gold [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Denial of Feelings, F/M, Oral Sex, Porn With Plot, Porn with Feelings, Reader-Insert, Vaginal Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-25
Updated: 2015-03-25
Packaged: 2018-03-19 13:51:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 7,247
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3612372
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hit_the_books/pseuds/hit_the_books
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>On the run, Y/N, doesn’t know what to do, other than hide and hope that they don’t find you. But when the Winchesters finally track you down, you’re not sure if things will ever be the same again.</p><p>Expect liberal use and references to certain mythical items and processes.</p><p>This fic takes place around season nine.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Running

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first fanfic, and I have never written a sex scene before. So please, be gentle.
> 
> Otherwise: I hope you've enjoyed reading this as much as I did writing it and are looking forward to part two :)
> 
> If you have any requests, check http://dreamsfromthebunker.tumblr.com/
> 
> UPDATE: Just realised I hadn't made the other six chapters of part one live, they're now all available.

You could hear their heavy footsteps getting closer, as you squeezed yourself closer to the wooden sides of the tiny cupboard that was in the corner of the cabin's kitchen, hoping no one had heard the chair scrape as you used it to hide the cupboard door while closing it. What little light you had disappeared as the men stood in front of the kitchen's lone lantern, still where you had left it on the table. The two lumbering oafs smelled different to the others who had pursued you earlier that day, but you still didn't trust them as you held your carry-on sized wooden chest close to your right side. Your left hand nervously palms a small pouch, ready to throw should your position be determined by the strangers.

"Looks like she left in a hurry," says one man, the tallest silhouette, as he pokes around at the contents on the kitchen table.

"Yeah... I don't buy it," says the shorter silhouette as he gets closer to the cupboard door.

Still palming the small, cottony pouch, you try desperately to still your breathing and hope that the men - if that's what they were - didn't have good hearing as you try not to fall apart. You thought you would be safe once you'd gotten to the log cabin late last night, safe from the horrors that had pursued you over two states, but now you weren't so sure. You tuck a loose strand of hair behind your right ear.

The sudden absence of noise alarms you more than their footsteps had. This was it. You pull the chest closer to you and get the pouch ready.

SCRRR - the chair is hastily pulled away from the cupboard door. A hand grips the door's handle and-

"GOTTC-" The short man's words of triumph are cut short as you throw the pouch down hard against the wooden floor of the cabin and a thick purple smoke erupts, obscuring the entire kitchen. Two loud thuds tell you the men, or whatever they were, have collapsed from the effects of the powder you'd concocted (lavender and a hint of Djinn venom were two of its main components).

Immune through training, the purple cloud doesn't affect you, so you get to your feet and scramble out of the tight cupboard, heading through the cabin and out its front door.

Chest banging against your side, you find the motorbike you'd stashed near by behind some bushes. A basic, but efficient, bright green Kawasaki. Grabbing your helmet off the seat you begin strapping it on, chest by your feet when you notice the car the men must have arrived in. Having strapped the chest to the back of your bike, the bungee cord straining against the intricately carved wood, you go over to the car, having decided that the tyres need a little airing. A flick knife appears in your right hand, pulled from the folds of your khaki combats, and you stab and twist the blade into the front right tyre and then the back.

Carefully folding the knife away you jog back over to your bike, checking the chest one more time before mounting the bike, inserting your key, and getting the engine going. You try not to shiver in the cooling mountain air.

As the bike roars to life between your legs, you hear yells over the noise of the engine, and see in your left side mirror the two men - one tall, one short - yelling at you as they clumsily try to navigate their way down the steps from the cabin porch. The effects of the powder yet to completely wear off.

Ignoring them, you rev the bike and pull away, giving them the finger with your left hand as you, the bike and your chest disappear down the dirt track that leads away from the cabin.


	2. Sunshine

It takes you about an hour, but finally you hit the outskirts of civilisation. The roads are quiet at this time of night, but you keep your speed just legal, as you scout for a motel. You're freezing by this point, with only adrenaline keeping you warm.

Seeing a friendly looking neon glow and the promise of vacancies, you turn into the parking lot of the first motel you see. Parking your bike up, you take your helmet off and push your arm through the visor like some kind of bulky purse. Seeing an attendant watching you from the reception, you take the chest off the bike and walk on over, trying not to shiver.

"Room for one?" The attendant asks, as you enter the warmth of the reception. The man frowns, as he tries to discretely look you over.

You put the chest down for a moment. Fumbling for your wallet, never a purse, you say, "Yeah, two nights please."

The man nods, rings it up and you unroll a furl of bills for him. Having paid up and got your keys, an air of fatherly concern washes over the man and he asks you, "Boyfriend trouble?"

You stand beside the door, your back to the attendant. "You could say that. Nothing I can't handle," you growl and stalk out of the reception, quickly making for your room.

As you clear the parking lot, you check that your bike isn't visible from the main road, satisfied, you go over to your room and let yourself in and turn the lights on.

Dropping the chest and your helmet on the lone double bed, the cold catches up with you and you begin to shiver like crazy. You hurry to the bathroom, stripping clothes and boots as you go, hardly taking in your surroundings as you fight the cold. With expert precision you get the shower working and as clouds of steam rise up to greet you, you get in.

Letting the heat of the water try to bring you away from the brink of hypothermia, you look down at the only thing you're left wearing. A long silver chain that runs past your breasts, ending in a silver-filagree nest with a bright orange stone inside. You cradle it in your wet hands and sigh. The stone glints at you, its secrets many, but all known to you.

Despite what the heat from the shower wants you to do, you can't relax. Once you're sure you've warmed yourself through, you step out and grab a towel and begin drying yourself off. Back in the main room, you think for a moment how nice it would be sleep in the buff, but sense prevails and you pull back on your simple black underwear, followed by your khakis, a three-quarter sleeves length black shirt and a purple zip-up hoody.

You leave your boots to one side, deciding your feet deserve a break and sulk on back over to the bed and your chest. Before you open the chest, you stuff your long, silver necklace back under your tops. Sure the necklace is safe, you caress the intricately carved wood and the chest opens up.

With your hands and nose guiding you, you mix up another knockout pouch and then a couple of other powders in case trouble finds you... again.

  
Once you feel prepared, you hide all the pouches, bar the knockout one, in the pockets on your khakis. This lone pouch you put under your pillow, which you then settle on down to, turning off the lights and drift off into some much needed, much deserved sleep.

*

The sun wakes you up. Its beams having snuck through the partially open curtains near the door to your room. For a brief moment, you groggily try to remember where you are, but you're wide awake and alert when suddenly their scent hits you. You claw for the pouch under your pillow, pulling it out and sitting up, ready to throw -

CLICK! You look at the man sat in the seat at the foot of your bed, pointing his 9mm at you, its metallic surface glinting in the sunlight. You recognise the man as the short man from the night before.

"No - don't try starting that crap again!" He shouts.

The front door opens and the other man looks over towards it long enough for you to jump out of the bed, but just as you're about to try again to throw the pouch down -

CLICK! You look up and see the tall man has now entered the room and is also pointing a 9mm at you.

"Fuck!" You yell angrily.

The shorter one, his closely cut blond hair glinting in the increased sunlight, stands up and walks in front of you, gun pointing at your chest.

"Maybe, you'd like to explain why we don't gank you right now, witch," says the short one.

The tall one closes the front door behind him, keeping his gun pointed at you.

"Witch?!" You exclaim incredulously. "You think I'm some stupid, demon cock sucking, dumb ass witch?! Screw the both of you!"

The tall one, his soft, lush brown locks shining in the sunlight from the window, starts to lower his gun, confusion and concern warping his face.

"You're not a witch?" The tall one asks.

"NO!"

"But, what about the purple powder and all those missing virgins?" Asks the short one.

"Dragons took those virgins while they were out looking for me... You're not dragons?" It was your turn to be confused.

"No, we're, y'know, hunters," the tall one says, as he walks past the short one. "What about the smoke, that stuff you used on us?"

'Hunters...' you think to yourself, you'd met a few in your late grandfather's store, but you'd never talked to them.

Remembering you were asked a question, you reply, "Uh, a basic knockout combo, a bit of lavender, some Djinn venom and a few other bits and pieces."

"If you're not a witch, and there are dragons out looking for you: who or what are you?" The short one asks, his gun still pointing at your chest.

"I'm Y/N and, um, well, um, I'm an alchemist."

The two men look at you, unsure what to say or do, until the tall one asks, "What would dragons want with an... alchemist?"

You hesitate to reply, unsure how much more you should tell them. You look at the two, different, but very similar men, their smells now enveloping you, and say, "Tell me your names and I'll tell you why the dragons are after me."

The two men look at each other briefly and nod in agreement.

"I'm Sam Winchester," says the tall one, "and this is my brother Dean."

You inhale more deeply, drinking in their scents from across the room. You're sure they're not dragons.

"Hi," Dean says, giving you a friendly wave with his free hand, but still not lowering his gun.

You put your right hand up in greeting and say, "Hi Sam, hi Dean. I am one of the few alchemists to have ever succeeded in creating a Philosopher's Stone and that's why there are dragons after me."

"What, a Philosopher's Stone, like in Harry Potter?" Dean asks.

"Just like in Harry Potter, only I'm not over six hundred years old," though a part of you knew that you could live to a ripe old age, "and He Who Must Not Be Named isn't real and neither's Harry or Dumbledore and the rest of them."

"Why's that such a big deal?" Sam asks, nonplussed.

"Because, Sam," Dean says, turning his head to Sam, but not lowering his gun, "she has the means to turn any base metal into gold. And what do dragons love oh so much, other than virgins?"

"Gold," Sam mutters.

"Bingo," you say. "Now, Dean, any chance you're going to lower that gun of yours?" You look hopefully at him.

"Ah," Dean turns his attention back to you, gun still in place, "you see, Y/N, we need to have words about what you did to my baby last night."

You look into Dean's eyes and you can see a cool anger burning there.

"I thought you were dragons."

"Yeah, Dean," Sam says, clearly thinking this had gone on long enough, "Y/N did think we were dragons."

"Fine." Dean finally lowers his gun and stows it as Sam stows his own. "But you better say sorry to her."

"Fine," you reply.

"Can we see the stone?" Sam asks as you pocket the cotton pouch into one of the many pockets of your combat khakis.

"Sure," you pull on the long silver chain around your neck and the stone starts coming out of your top, though it then catches on your bra. "Sorry, just a sec." You turn away from the guys, catching a more than concerned look in their eyes as you turn, and carefully pull the rest of the necklace and nest from out of your top. You turn round to face them again, the end of the necklace hanging from your right hand.

The orange stone glints alluringly in the sunshine that is still fighting its way into the room.

"It looks really nice," Sam says, though you're not sure if he's referring to the stone or, you look down embarrassed, you with your now partially open top, which is revealing the tops of your breasts. You quickly button up your top and stow the stone away.

"So, gents, what now?"


	3. Along for the ride

When Dean and Sam had said that they were going to find the dragons, gank them and then save the virgins... You'd not been best pleased when they mentioned the idea of using you as bait. As far as you knew, there was no way to kill the bastards. But then you'd been shown the contents of the Impala's trunk (after having apologised to her majesty) and seen the broken sword.

"Forged in dragon's blood," you'd said while inhaling its scent deeply.

"You can smell that?" Sam had asked, his eyes wide with what you assumed was amazement.

"Yeah. Alchemists have to have a good sense of smell, else we might mix up something with ingredients that have gone off," you'd replied matter-of-factly.

Sam considered your reply before closing the trunk. His face was a mask of innocence, but you could tell he was thinking about this way too much.

Dean was itching to go, so he'd quickly made his excuses and headed to a mart across the street to pick up supplies. In some ways you thought he was a little too eager to be away from Sam, like something was off between them, but you can't quite figure what.

Now alone with Sam, Sam offers to help you get your things in the car. With a smirk, you ask him to get your chest and bike helmet from your room while you grab a few things from the holding space in your bike. You're sure he can "move" the chest, but, as you think about the way he glanced at your chest earlier, a part of you is pleased that he's going to have a fight with the hunk of carved out wood.

Over by your bike, you pull out a small rucksack from its carry space under the seat. The Winchesters had promised they'd bring you back later, but a spare change of clothes was probably a good idea.

You head into reception and are greeted by the guy from last night. You hand him your room key.

"Checking out early?"

"Yeah."

You quickly head back to the Impala, dump your bag on the back seat and then return back to the bike. Seeing a nearby alleyway, you discretely take the bike off its park stand and wheel it over to the alley. Once you have it stowed behind a dumpster, you pull a pouch out of one of your many pockets and empty its contents over the bike's wheels. Satisfied its secure, you head back to the Impala.

The door to the room is now closed and Sam is standing in the parking lot, breathing heavily, the chest at his feet. You reach the Impala and call over to him. "Need any help?"

"No, it's cool, I've got this," Sam replies, squatting and bending his knees as he goes down to pick up the chest once more. You turn away and smirk.

The scent of pie suddenly whafts into your face and you turn to see Dean heading across the parking lot carrying supplies. He heads straight to you, gives you the bags of snacks before turning to Sam.

"Sammy, need some help?" Dean calls over, Sam nods and Dean jogs over. You take that as your sign to get into the back of the car with the supplies.

Easing yourself in, you look towards the motel's sign, giggling at the sounds of the guys struggling as they try to move the chest.

THUMP! You know the chest has hit the tarmac.

Not turning, you call out of the car, "Need any help, guys?"

"No, no, we're fine," Dean replies.

Finally, several minutes later, the guys drop the chest onto the back seat, and seem surprised when the suspension doesn't buckle.

"How the hell do you carry that thing?" Dean cries.

You turn to face Dean and Sam through the open window. "Think of it like Mjolnir, Thor's hammer."

"Next time, you can carry it," says Dean as he begins climbing into the driver's seat.

Thinking Sam will sit up front with his brother, you're surprised when he gets in the back with you. And that's when it hits you, Sam and Dean's scents are a bit different, but you can't quite place how.

*

Sam hangs up his phone and walks back over to the car, stopped beside the highway. "Sheriff Hanson said another girl was taken last night."

That meant the dragons are still operating in your home town.

"Great, shouldn't be more than a few hours drive," Dean replies rolling his shoulders and neck before getting back into the driver's seat. Sam reaches the car and opens the door for you.

"Uh, thanks," you say as you slide back in. Sam walks around the car and gets back in beside you. The guys still seem a bit off in comparison to the moment they cornered you in the motel, but you really can't tell why, but their scents are a little different.

The car's engine roars back to life and you begin to pull back onto the road. You're considering whether to have a nap, when you see that Sam is staring intently at you.

"Is there something on my face?"

Realising he's busted, Sam replies, "No, no..."

Scowling ever so slightly at Sam, you wriggle into a comfortable position on the seat and close your eyes.

It only feels like you've been asleep for five minutes, but it turns out its twenty, when you suddenly feel a hand teasing a strand of your hair. Panicked, your hands reach for your pockets and in one swift movement you've got two knockout bags and a few others stuffed in your fists, your chest heaving, as you struggle to remember where you are.

"Hey, hey! It's fine, calm down," Sam coos. You remember where you are and shift in the seat, putting the pouches back in your pockets.

"You were touching my hair," you growl.

Dean is now throwing glances at you both on the back seat. "Do I need to pull over again?"

"No," you reply, "keep driving." You glower at Sam, your eyes narrowed and hoping the message is clear.

"Why are you so... jumpy?" Sam asks, not getting the message.

You continue to glower at him, rethinking the whole not holding onto any of your pouches. "It's none of your damn business, but if you must know: being hunted by dragons can do that to a woman."

Finally, Sam seems to realise that he's pissed you off, but you feel bad as a hurt expression plays across Sam's face.

"Sorry, that came out harsher than I meant it to."

Sam smiles at you, turns his head and looks out the window beside him. Turning towards your own window, you catch Dean regarding you via the rearview mirror. The scent of both men seems even more changed and you begin to worry.

Should you have joined them on this hunt?


	4. Here be dragons

The tyres crunch over gravel as you pull up beside the water pumping station. The sheriff had suggested that the trail, such as it were, led to here. The distant rumble of water sets you on edge.

You'd been left in peace during the rest of the journey there, but you kept catching sideways glances from the brothers in your general direction. They seem to think that you aren't noticing this. Climbing out of the car, you catch Dean's hazel-green eyes glancing at you from the driver's side mirror.

"Dean, you joining us?" Sam calls.

"Uh, yeah, sure." Dean opens his door and climbs out.

Ignoring the guys, you reach back into your chest in the car and open it up, stroking the wood to prise the lid open. Looking into its contents, you feel like something that was there is missing, but you can't place your finger on what. Instead you start mixing up up a few glass bottles to help handle the dragons. You share lead shavings and a few other choice materials between the four bottles and stopper them.

You didn't hear the boot go up, but you hear it slam as the guys finishing readying themselves.

"Okay," says Sam, "you head into the station first, acting totally not suspicious and we'll shadow you from behind, waiting for the dragons to show."

"And then?" You ask.

"We gank the sons of bitches," finishes Dean.

Closing your eyes, you sigh and put three of the bottles in your pockets and keep one in your left hand. Taking a deep breath, you walk over to a rusting, rivet driven door. The padlock that once secured it lies on the ground near by. Shifting the bottle to your right hand, you ease the door open with your left-

CRRRRRRRRR! 'Yep,' you think to yourself, 'They'll know I'm here all right.'

As you slowly walk into the pumping station, you hear the soft padding footsteps of the Winchesters from behind. You move away from the doorway and head into the concrete structure. The space is gloomy, but your sense of smell reassures you that the dragons aren't near you, yet.

Shifting the bottle back to your left hand you plunge further into the gloom, senses alert. Then it hits you - it's not the dragons, rather the remains of cooked flesh. You turn a corner and come face-to-face with a darkened mound. Their flesh is still cooking - the virgins haven't made it.

"Shit," you whisper. There was nothing you could do for them now, so you continue going deeper into the structure. The sound of rushing water getting louder the further in you walk.

Turning another corner, the space begins to open up to a large hollowed out section with a metal walkway. There's no way to hide your footsteps as they sound off the iron grids. You stop walking as you reach the centre, with three other tunnels surrounding the entrance you've just emerged from.

The change is swift. One moment their scent is nowhere, the next it's clogging your nostrils as the two beasts stalk you from different directions. There's no sign of the Winchesters.

Emerging from two separate tunnels, you turn your head between the two dragons, backing away from them very slowly.

"Heard you were looking for me," you say, sounding more confident than you feel.

The dragons are wearing their human forms - all dark, short hair, well chiselled faces, dark eyes, stern looks and muscles rippling under cotton shirts. Knowing what they are makes seeing them in this form a difficult bit of mental agility. 'They're not really handsome men,' you keep reminding yourself in your head.

The dragons scan the space, making sure you're alone, before they start advancing on you, wordlessly. In the distance, over the sound of distant roaring water, you hear boots pounding concrete, but you know Dean and Sam won't make it there in time to land the first shot. You inhale deeply, then, with unexpected agility, roll and throw one of the bottles hitting the dragon to your right.

Smashing against its face, with a flash of blue light, the dragon to your right staggers as the bottle hits it. Still part way through your roll you palm another one of the lead bottles from your pockets and as you stop rolling you launch it at the other dragon. This bottle too hits home, staggering the beast in a heady blue glow.

"Y/N!" Hollers Dean as he and Sam burst through one of the tunnels. You turn to see that first dragon struck by one of the bottles is huffing out its chest, getting ready to incinerate you, but when it tries to unleash its elemental fury, nothing happens but a slight heat haze appearing in front of its mouth. The dragon stares at you, dumbfounded, as the Winchesters advance.

But the guys aren't fast enough. Having understood what the blue light means, the other dragon rushes up to you and plunges its right fist in and out of your chest. You watch it all in slow motion, hurting, falling, crying out, bleeding - all in one horrid, fluid moment. You feel a sense of satisfaction as you feel the reassuring tingle of the stone's necklace brushing across a part of your torso, knowing that the dragon hasn't got what it wants, the beast unable to sense the stone in its silver cage.

You crash to the metal grated flooring. Blood pumping out of the wound in the middle of your chest. Looking up, a blur beginning to form in your vision, you see Dean gut the dragon that went for you and then throw the partial sword to Sam who plunges the piece of blade into the remaining beast.

Dean and Sam rush towards you, but your vision is faltering and you can't hear their pleas as their mouths move.


	5. Blackness

Blackness. Soft. Warm.

"Sam? SAM! Have you stopped the bleeding?!"

"For now! How far to the hospital?"

"Another fifteen miles."

"Did you call the sheriff?"

"What?! Fuck, yes, but let's get our priorities right here!"

"JUST DRIVE!"

Blackness.

Black. Cold.

Cold. Black.

BIPPPP, BIPPPP, BIPPPP...

"Dean, can you pass me that blanket? Y/N's shivering."

Blackness.

"Here."

Soft. Warm.

"Please wake up, Y/N..."

Warm. Soft.

BIPPPP, BIPPPP, BIPPPP...

Soft.

"It was a stupid idea."

"Dean, don't-"

"We shouldn't have used her as bait, Sam!"

"FUCK! I know..."

Warm.

BIPPPP, BIPPPP, BIPPPP...

"I can't just... stand here. Sam, coffee?"

Soft. Warm.

"Sure... please."

Soft.

Warm.

Blackness.

THUUUUUUMP.

BIPPPP, BIPPPP, BIPPPP...

"Y/N, I'm sorry. Please, please wake up."

Warm.

Soft.

"I'm sorry..."

BIPPPP, BIPPPP, BIPPPP...

*

"HUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUCPK!"

BIPP, BIPP, BIPP, BIPP, BIPP...

"HELP, NURSE, DOCTOR!" Yells Sam.

Blackness is turning to light. Your lungs want to breathe on their own.

Voices. Hands. Pulling. Pain.

"There," says a woman's voice.

Machine beeps and pen on paper crawl into your awareness. Sam's smell fills the room, Dean wasn't long ago there too. The woman smells of rosewater and first love. Sam smells of books, spinach, musk and need. 'Need,' you think to yourself, 'that's what's different.'

"I'll leave you two alone," says the woman's voice.

THUUUUUUUUMP.

Your eyes flicker open and stare straight into the blue, slightly hazel, eyes of Sam Winchester.

"Hey," you croak.

"Hey," replies Sam.

"Where's... Dean?" Speaking is difficult.

"Pie run or was it coffee? Anyway, you're awake."

You gently nod your head in reply. Your right hand instinctively goes for your chain and you find that the necklace and stone are still there.

"Thirsty?" Asks Sam.

You nod yes, and Sam picks up a cup of water with a straw in it from a bedside table. He bends over the side of the hospital bed and puts the straw in your mouth and you sip. The cool wetness of the water feels good in your parched, ragged mouth.

Sam pulls the cup and straw away. "Better?"

"Much," you reply in a far less croaky voice. "Does Sheriff Hanson know what happened?"

A pained expression passes over Sam's face before he replies, "Yes."

As Sam puts the cup back, you trace your right hand up your chest and feel the bandages beneath your gown. You feel no pain from the prodding.

"Doesn't that hurt?" Sam asks, his attention back on you.

"No... in fact," with your right hand you begin to pull at the bandages under the gown, realising what you've achieved.

"Woah!" Sam grabs your right hand. "What do you think you're doing?"

"You look then! It's gone."

Frowning, Sam carefully lifts up your gown - you shiver slightly - and pulls back the dressings on your chest. His eyes widen in shock as he realises what you already know.

Sam puts you right and sits back in a chair beside the bed. "How?"

THUUUUUUUUMP.

"You're awake!" Dean cries as he enters the room, cups of coffee in a cardboard tray gripped by his left hand.

"We need to get her out of here, Dean," says Sam, realising the full consequences of the good news.

"Hang on a minute, Sammy, Y/N is recovering from a seven inch wide hole in her chest." Deans looks at you both, confused.

Sam turns to you. "Y/N, why is there no wound? How did you heal?"

You ease yourself up in the bed and begin to paw at the IV needles fixed in your left hand.

"Y/N?" Asks Dean.

You pull the IV needle out of your hand, before leaning over the side of the bed and turning off the heart monitor. You start peeling the monitoring pads off your skin, making short work of all the wires.

Looking up into Sam's eyes, you inhale deeply and say, "It's the elixir. The stone doesn't just turn other metals into gold, you can use it to produce the elixir of life. I drunk a batch when I first made the stone."

"That's some Harry Potter shit, right there," Dean exclaims as he pulls the room's curtains closed.

Getting out of the bed. You realise that you need to change. "I don't suppose either of you grabbed the bag I had in the Impala?"

"Right, right," Sam says as he seems to realise the urgency of the situation. He goes over to a cupboard and pulls it out and passes it to you.

"Thanks," you say as you begin pulling clothes out of the bag. The guys turn away, their faces beginning to go red, as you strip and change into your spare clothes: black panties, tight jeans, baggy Focus t-shirt, another zip-up hoody, and a pair of black pumps.

"Ready."


	6. Healed

After all that had happened, the guys decided that they owed you. Rather than taking you back to your bike, they headed on back to the "Bunker" as they called it. They promised to surprise you. It took over a day to reach that surprise. 'But damn, it feels good to be alive.'

Watching the key fit perfectly in its lock and stepping down the spiral staircase inside, you're amazed by the site that greets you and a familiar symbol.

"Is this... the lost sanctuary of the Men of Letters?" You ask as you walk down the stairs.

"Actually, yeah, it is," replies Sam with surprise in his voice. "You know about the Men of Letters?"

Reaching the bottom of the stair case, you go over to the incident table and look at the map on top of it. You put down your chest. "My late grandfather use to sell to them."

"Sell to them?" Dean asks.

"Alchemy ingredients, bits and pieces for spells."

Sam stands beside you at the incident table. "Your grandfather is the one who taught you?"

"I was the only one who would listen to his stories. I was the one who realised there was more there," you reply, facing Sam.

Sam's expression looks wistful, recalling a memory, but all he says is, "Oh."

You run a hand along one of the gorgeous chairs beside the huge table.

"I think this calls for some drinks." Dean hurries off in what you can only assume is the direction of the kitchen.

"Want the tour?" Sam asks.

You nod.

When you reach the library, you look about yourself in amazement at the hundreds of tomes lining its shelves. Some you recognise as books on alchemy. A few you've studied.

"Wow," you exclaim.

"I haven't read all of them yet, just so you know."

You continue looking up at the shelves, wondering if you'll ever get the chance to study the tomes there.

It's the sudden waft of his scent that lets you know that Sam is standing right behind you. He places his right hand on your right shoulder and gently tugs at you to face him. You think, 'Books, spinach, musk and need,' as you turn to gaze into his blueish eyes.

"Y/N... I..." Sam sweeps in for a kiss. His lips on engross yours expertly, caressing your own, which are awkward to respond at first - it's been so long. But you don't resist, his scent mingling with your senses. And as Sam's tongue finds yours, your body begins to remember. Your tongues invade each other's mouths, neither of you wanting to give way to the other.

The urgency of your kisses increase and you suddenly find your head hitting a shelf.

"Ow!"

Sam stops kissing you, guilt flashing in his eyes. "This way," he says, grabbing you by your right hand. He leads you out of the library and towards the bedrooms. You can hear Dean up to something in the kitchen, but before you know it you're being gently ushered towards Sam's bed.

Falling onto it, you work at removing your shoes, jeans and panties. Sam begins to strip, revealing his well-moulded torso before kicking off his boots and dragging his jeans off. Dressed only in boxers, Sam strides over to you and begins kissing you again, getting down into a kneeling position in front of you and the bed.

Snaking his right hand up and under your Focus t-shirt, Sam begins to tease your left nipple between his fingers, while using his left to caress the curve of your back. You explore each other's mouths with each thrust of your kisses and you begin to feel the same need as Sam, picking up the change in your own scent. This is more than just passionate contact, you need Sam - you need him inside you.

Pulling away from Sam's kisses, you stroke his face and then guide his head down and between your legs. Already your wetness is leaking onto the bed sheets, but Sam greedily plunges between your folds, his tongue seemingly glad to meet none of the resistance it had experienced in your mouth. Finding your clit, your hands involuntarily clutch at Sam's gorgeous locks of hair, as his tongue teases that oh-so sensitive bundle of nerve endings.

Sam stops playing with your left breast and slides his right hand down the length of your torso, down your crotch until he finally reaches your labia. You ache for the contact, and shudder with pleasure as two of Sam's fingers slide with ease into your pussy, reaching deep and begin to massage your G-spot.

"Mmmmnnnnh," you groan. You can feel yourself opening up under Sam's confident touch.

Coming up for a breather, Sam promises: "I'm going to make you cum and then we're going to fuck." Without another word, Sam's face heads back down to your dripping pussy and sets to work teasing your clit beyond belief, while his right index and middle finger furiously work your G-spot.

You can feel the sides of your walls clench and you know that you're about to cum.

One last stroke and your walls beat against Sam's fingers while your thighs straddle the sides of his head, helping you to ride out your orgasm as it beats through you.

Sam gently pulls himself away from you, wiping his face with the back of his hand, and stands up, his pants fallen down. You see his hard cock, pre-cum dripping from its end, and shiver in anticipation.

"Lie down," Sam gently asks you. You obey and ease yourself up the bed and lie down against the sheets. Sam climbs onto the bed and eases your legs apart, crawling between them, his eyes narrowing in pleasure at the sight of your dripping pussy.

"Ready?" Sam asks you.

You nod yes.

Bending down over you, he brings his hips level with yours and begins to push the tip of his cock inside you. Satisfied with the lack of resistance, he eases the rest of himself in. The head bumps up against your G-spot and Sam begins to thrust, quickly getting into a satisfying, deep rhythm. Your necklace slides back and forth between your breasts.

Again, Sam eases his mouth on to yours, this time mimicking the pace of his hips with the jolts of his tongue. You both moan into each other's mouths, enjoying the pace, enjoying each other's bodies. You can't get over how quickly this has all happened, but you decide not to worry, because it just feels so good and so right.

Sam doesn't take long to bring you to orgasm once again. Your spasming walls as you cum threaten to bring Sam to climax, but he's not ready to finish yet. Instead be pulls your feet up onto his chest, and begins to kneel into you, holding onto your ankles, pounding into your pussy from a more vertical angle, his head now pressuring the vaginal wall above your rectal tract, eliciting a different but equally powerful pleasure sensation.

Seemingly sure that it won't upset his pace, Sam snakes his left hand away from your right ankle and instead begins using it on your clit. Slicking his left fingers from the juices pumping out of your cunt, he wets your clit and increases its already staggering sensitivity. It's too much. You can't take anymore. You buck under his hands as your body again reaches climax.

Breathing heavily, Sam begins to pick up his pace even more, bringing his left hand back to your ankle. He holds on to you tight and thrusts deep and fast into your vagina. Looking up at his face, you can't get over how hot he looks as he bumps into you, sweat beginning to bead his brow, hair threatening to curtain his face.

Taking pleasure in watching him give you pleasure, your cunt shudders and clenches around his girth, one last time and that's it: you send Sam over the edge and he neededly thrusts down into you, pumping his cock as it spills its load, filling you up.  
"MMMMnnnnnnUHHHHnnnnUhhhh!" Sam exclaims has he cums inside you.

"Mnnnnnnnnnuuuuuuuuuhhhhhhhhh..." You groan as you ride out the rest of your orgasm with Sam's.

Gently placing your feet back down on the bed, Sam leans in and fondly kisses your lips. You kiss him in appreciation. Sam finally pulls his shrinking penis out of you and lies down on the bed beside you, scooping you up into his muscular arms for a cuddle.

"That was-" you begin.

"I love you, Y/N," Sam says, taking you by surprise.

When you fail to say the words back to Sam, he doesn't seem to notice. He just pulls you closer as your bodies begin to cool off.


	7. Denial

Finally staggering out of Sam's bedroom, Dean asks no questions as Sam and you make your way back to the incident room table. Dean has already finished several beers and you notice him giving Sam a wink as the two of you sit down at the table. There's a hunger in Dean's eyes and realise that he's hoping he'll be round two.

The chest is still there, where you left it. You look between it, Sam and Dean.

Grabbing a beer offered by Dean, you pull it and the chest towards you. You stroke the top of the chest, and the intricate carvings respond to your touch, once again opening the chest.

"Huh, so that's how you're meant to open it," Dean remarks offhandedly. You throw him a look before peering inside the chest, determined to figure out what it was that you thought was missing before you faced off against the dragons.

You start pulling vials, bottles, tiny wooden boxes, tiny metal boxes, small plastic bags - all containing a giant assortment of materials and ingredients - out of the box. Sniffing the various vessels and poking around the chest, you begin to panic.

"No, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no..." You whimper.

"What's wrong?" Asks Sam. You look up from the chest and its contents and look at Sam and Dean. You can breathe their very essences in. Sam's odour of books, spinach and musk. Dean's leather, beef and engine oil. And need.

Throwing one more glance at the guys, and observing the hungry looks they're giving you, you know it must be true. You hadn't closed it properly the night at the motel.

"When you carried my chest from the motel room, did something fall out of it and rub off on you?" You ask the guys.

"Um, well, when we dropped it, a tiny bit of white powder rubbed off onto us," admits Dean.

It had been desiccated cherub feather. Concentrated Cupid.

"Fuck..." You mutter to yourself, reaching into your supplies and pulling out some powered falcon eyes, gold dust and a few other choice items. You dig around in your chest for a mortar and pestle, find one and begin grinding the ingredients together.

Feeling the guys watching you with dumb interest, you slip one of the knockout bags into a pocket on your jeans. You then shake the powder our of the mortar onto a sheet of card. Calmly, you pack all of your things back into the chest.

"Y/N?" Sam asks, a hint of concern in his voice.

Picking up the piece of card with powder on it, you stand up and walk around the table to Dean and Sam. You know you need to do this. You know you couldn't live such a lie.

Before either Sam or Dean can get up or knock the powder away, you blow the substance over the two. They inhale. You watch looks of confusion dawn on their faces and then before they can say or do anything else, you throw a pouch of knockout powder.

Hearing them slump within the purple fog, you head for the garage, chest under your arm yet again.

*

It takes you two days to finally drive your way back to your bike. You're unsurprised that it's still there. You load the chest and get ready to put your helmet on and then you smell it.

Sulphur.

"I don't suppose," a gravelly, voice calls from behind you, "that you'd be interested in joining me in a business proposition. See I'm in need of some means to fund a particular purchase and I hear that you have ways and means."

Whipping round, you look at the 'man' that stands before you and wonder first and foremost: who is his tailor?


End file.
